


Fault

by Sansetto



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Angst, Desperation, Dirty Sex, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansetto/pseuds/Sansetto
Summary: After a mission goes horribly wrong Ajay and Sabal find comfort in each other.
Relationships: Ajay Ghale/Sabal
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Fault

Ajay stands at Chal Jama Monestary. He stands across the pond, watching as families grieve their lost ones. Massive fires burning across the various stone levels. Sending embers dancing into the night sky. The stench of burning bodies is heavy in the air. Even from where he stands, the stench and smoke burn his eyes and nose. He finds himself turning his gaze pointedly to the pond when a particularly wounded cry carries through the air. He feels his eyes burn with something other than smoke.

This fight had been the worst yet. It was suppose to be a simple outpost mission. Ajay had done the reconnaissance and laid out the plan. It should have gone smoothly. Instead he had directed those men and women straight to their deaths. There had been a rat amongst them and had tipped off the outpost. An overwhelming force had been there to meet them. 

The sound of footsteps has him blinking his eyes clear and snapping his head to the right.

“It’s just me, brother.”

Sabal. It’s Sabal. The older man had stopped in his tracks, raising his hands in front of him. It then dawns on Ajay that he had raised his gun and had it pointed right at the other man’s chest. A sick feeling twists inside his guts.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, quickly lowering his weapon.

“No need to apologize,” Sabal replies sincerely, coming to stand next to Ajay and look up at the grieving families. “It was a rough fight. I think everyone’s nerves are on edge.”

Ajay can feel the older man’s eyes on him. Can feel them looking him up and down. He finds himself afraid to look at Sabal. To see disappointment, hate, anger.

“I didn’t see you up there for the memorial,” says Sabal, placing a hand on Ajay’s shoulder.

The American wants nothing more than to lean himself into that touch. But he swallows around the lump in his throat and says, “I’m probably the last person those people want to see.”

Sabal is quiet, but Ajay can feel his jade eyes bore holes into him. “It wasn’t your fault, Ajay,” he says carefully, as if afraid he’ll scare the younger man off.

Ajay feels his throat constrict tightly and hot, angry tears well in his eyes as finally whirls on Sabal. The motion knocks the Golden Path leader’s hand from his shoulder. He ignores the burn the touch leaves behind, as he stares Sabal down. He wants to yell and scream his own faults. To make the older man see he isn’t perfect. To show he’s nothing like his father.

But as he takes in Sabal’s appearance, he feels his anger dissipate. He can make out in the fire light, that the Kyrati’s eyes are rimmed in red and he can see tear tracks flash on the man’s cheeks. His jade eyes vulnerable and soft. Ajay realizes Sabal could have been blaming himself. He feels himself completely deflate at that thought.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying. “I should have stood up there with you.”

A small smile graces Sabal’s lips. “It’s alright, brother.”

He places his hand back on Ajay’s shoulder. This time, Ajay leans into it slightly. He feels Sabal stroke his thumb against his shoulder, almost thoughtfully.

“Why don’t you come with me,” suggests Sabal after a beat. “The Royal Army won’t be attacking tonight. No need to stand guard.”

Ajay hesitates for a moment, before ultimately nodding. Sabal leads them to the first little shrine area that sits to the right, when first driving up to the monastery. It’s completely deserted with everyone at the main part. Back here, Ajay feels the stench of burning bodies lessens.

Sabal settles on the floor, leaning back against one of the walls. Ajay sits next to him, setting his gun to the side. He watches as the older man pulls a small tin from his pocket. Surprisingly, Sabal pulls out a blunt.

“I thought you were against drugs,” Ajay questions.

Sabal gives a wry chuckle as he starts lighting the blunt. “Weed is the one exception. It won’t make a man go mad like opium. It doesn’t tear people or families apart.” He then takes two long drags. “After today, I think it’s okay to fall into a vice for a minute.” He holds it out to Ajay.

The American takes it. He takes two hits before passing it back. The stuff is strong. Ajay smoked his fair share of weed back in America, but he can already feel the haziness creep into the edges of his mind. Another two puffs and he’ll be floating.

They sit and watch the flicker of the shrine candles as the pass the blunt back and forth. Somehow they move closer together; their shoulders touching. They’re half way through the blunt when Ajay speaks again.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “If only I had anticipated things better.”

“Ajay, look at me.”

Sabal’s voice is soft, but firm. When Ajay looks at the older man, he’s not sure if it’s the way his head is all muzzy now, or what, but he can’t help but be enthralled by the way the flames from the candles dance across the man’s skin. Making his tan skin glow. How flecks of gold dance amongst the green in his eyes.

“What happened today wasn’t your fault. Those men and women fought bravely. They knew what they were getting into when they joined. Your plan was perfect. If it wasn’t for that rat, it would have worked.” Another comforting hand was squeezing his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Ajay wasn’t sure if it was the weed or the way that Sabal’s eyes bore imploringly into his own whiskey, brown orbs that made him lean forward and press his lips to the older man’s. The Kyrati seemed taken aback for a second, before he dropped the blunt and grasped Ajay’s face with both his hands.

Ajay found himself drowning in the desperation of Sabal’s kiss. But he was just as hungry for it, grasping hold of the older man’s biceps. Sabal tasted like smoke and gunpowder. His kiss, deep and dominating.

Ajay finds it addicting. He finds himself melting into the other man as Sabal drags him onto his lap. His breath hitches as their groins grind together.

His cheeks burn as Sabal purrs low and deep in his throat. The Kyrati’s gun-calloused hands run roughly under and up Ajay’s jacket and shirt. He lets out an embarrassing whine as he arches into the other man. Sabal had found a freshly cauterized bullet wound and had dug his thumb into it. Sabal moans, hot and heavy, at Ajay’s whimpers before biting harshly into the younger man’s neck.

Ajay‘s body pitches forward and he buries his face in Sabal’s neck, as he grinds his hips downward. He feels like he can’t catch his breath. He feels Sabal’s hand push his jacket and shirt up further; urging to pull them off. Ajay sits up and allows his shirt and jacket to come off. The sleeves of his jacket catch his gloves and rip them off his hands.

Shivering, as his torso is exposed to the night air, Ajay reaches down and runs his hands under and up Sabal’s jacket and shirt. His hands catch on rough scars. Some little bumps, while others feel like gorges. As Sabal’s jacket and shirt come off, Ajay admires each and every scar he can see.

He admires the sharp shadows the scars cast. Making them a hard and jagged contrast to the golden glow on the rest of Sabal’s skin. He watches as Sabal tips his head back and lets out a soft sigh as Ajay runs his fingers across more of them. The younger man finds himself leaning in and kissing along Sabal’s neck. He leaves tentative nips at certain spots before he latches high on the older man’s throat. Right under the corner of his mandible. He moans as he smells the sweat on the Kyrati’s skin; picking up the scent of cloves and cinnamon.

Ajay lets go with a gasp when Sabal’s hand winds tightly into his hair and yanks his head back. His body shivers as Sabal looks at him with black eyes, ready to _devour_ the younger man. Ajay licks his lips, tasting the sweat form the other man’s skin and Sabal’s nostrils flare. 

Ajay grinds his hip against Sabal’s desperately. _“_ _Sabal, please_ _.”_ It’s the first time he’s spoken and his voice is absolutely  _ wrecked _ .

“Up,” orders Sabal, his voice low and rough. “Pants off.”

As Ajay complies, Sabal pulls a vial of lube from one of his pockets, before stripping his own pants off; kicking his boots to the side. Ajay’s eyes immediately drop between Sabal’s legs. The older man’s cock juts out hard and leaking. Ajay feels his stomach swooping again at the size of it.

A fire burns low in his gut as Sabal drags him into another searing kiss. He shivers as he’s laid on the cool stone. Sabal wedges himself between Ajay’s legs, grinding their pelvises together. The American finds himself tossing his head back with a moan as his cock weeps pre-cum onto his stomach. He feels like he’s on a hair trigger.

_ ”Sabal,” _ he groans feverishly. “I’m clo-“ A loud moan punches itself from Ajay’s chest as Sabal wraps a calloused hand, a hand that has killed people, a hand that has pulled the trigger one too many times, around his cock and jerks him off.

Ajay shouldn’t find it as hot as he does and finishes embarrassingly quickly. His orgasm ripples through him, making his body sink further into the body-warmed stone beneath him. With his head fuzzy from the weed and now hazy from his orgasm, Ajay doesn’t realize he’s started crying.

He doesn’t notice the silent tears until Sabal is leaning up and kissing at his cheeks, little “shhs” breathed against his skin. Ajay boldly reaches up and digs his hands into Sabal’s hair, loosening the messy ponytail, and captures the Kyrati in a kiss. This time it’s deep and slow. No desperation, no rush. It was like time had stopped and now they had all the time in the world to enjoy each other.

Ajay’s breath hitches when he feels one of Sabal’s fingers travel south and gently rub around his entrance. He moans softly as the finger breaches him, slick with lube. His hips squirm, not use to the intrusion, but unable to stop it.

Sabal kisses along Ajay’s jaw, nipping here and there, as he works his finger slowly in and out. Ajay’s body jolts as Sabal strokes his finger upwards, catching the edge of his prostate. He feels his cock begin to harden again, as Sabal strokes the area again. He gives a full body shudder as the older man easily slips in a second finger.

A groan escapes him as Sabal sits back, his hair falling around his face as it’s freed from Ajay’s grasp, and wraps his hand back around Ajay’s cock. His cock still hasn’t fully recovered from the first orgasm and the touch boarders on the line of pain and pleasure.

_ ”Sabal, please!”_ begs Ajay, tears flowing freely from his eyes. He doesn’t quite know what he’s begging for, but as Sabal spread the two fingers inside him, he knows he needs something. Something to cool the fire that is burning itself across his skin and through his veins.

He grasps desperately at the stone beneath him as Sabal breaches him with a third finger. And doesn’t that make a sight. Him laid out beneath Sabal, his legs spread wide as the older man sits above him, shadowed by the candle light behind him. His eyes dark, no glimmer of green to be seen and his hair hanging wild and free around his face. He looked absolutely  _ feral_.

“Sabal, _please_ , I’m ready,” panted Ajay, his voice cracking.

Sabal gave one last stretch with his three fingers before extracting them. He pours the remainder of the oil into his hand and slathers it on his dick. He hitches Ajay’s legs onto his shoulders and begins to guide himself into the American.

Ajay’s hands scrabbled against the stone as he is bent nearly in half. He felt like he was choking as the head popped past his rim. The burn and stretch are nothing he’s felt before. But it was countered with Sabal’s strokes over his cock. Soft growls rumbled in the man’s chest as he pushes slowly and steadily into Ajay’s body.

As Sabal settles fully inside him, Ajay finally gasps, his chest heaving. He feels delirious as he looks up at the ceiling of the shrine, watching the candlelight flicker against the stone. He feels so full, like he’s stretched to his absolute limit. More tears flow down his cheeks as the feeling overwhelms him.

Sabal is then leaning forward, kissing the tear tracks as he gives a gentle roll of his hips. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, nipping at Ajay’s ear lobe. _”So fucking tight.”_

Ajay’s hands find their way back into Sabal’s hair, tugging the Kyrati into a heated kiss. He moans wantonly into Sabal’s mouth as the man begins to roll his hips in earnest. The younger man feels like he’s lost all sense of self as Sabal encompasses him. All he can hear, see, taste, and smell is Sabal.

The fire that’s been licking itself through Ajay’s body becomes an inferno as Sabal nails his prostate and he’s suddenly seeing white. He distantly hears a hoarse cry as his vision fades.

When he comes to, he sees Sabal pulling out of him. There’s a soft squelch and then he feels lube and cum run down his cheeks. He’d blush if he had the wherewithal to do so. His own stomach and chest is covered in cum. He knows it’ll become flakey and itching, but he can’t bring himself to wipe it up. He weakly reaches for the older man, as a soft whine escapes his lips.

Sabal curls up next to him, covering them in their jackets and making makeshift pillows from their shirts. He turns Ajay on his side and spoons him from behind. They lie there, catching their breath.

When Ajay finally regains the ability to speak, he says, “It wasn’t your fault either.” It comes out hoarse and cracked. He’s not even sure Sabal heard him. But the Golden Path Leader presses his forehead between Ajay’s shoulder blades and hugs him tighter.

As the light of dawn creeps into the edges of the shrine, both of them fall asleep feeling a little lighter.


End file.
